The Battle for the Agamar Desert
by Numbuh six-sixtysix
Summary: This is based off of the battle for the Agamar Desert in the Kronus campaign, between the Imperial Guard, and the Orks. Rated for language.


_Okay, okay, I know I said I would try and get more work in on my other fics, but, when inspiration calls, who am I to deny its desire? And so you all end up with a Warhammer 40k ; Dawn of War fanfic. This is based off of the battle for the Agamar Desert in the Kronus campaign, between the Imperial Guard, and the Orks._

**Agamar Desert  
Southern Plateau  
Western 'Entrance'**

Across from the rumoured ork gathering point, behind the piles of bloody corpses, was the official front line of the besieged Imperial Guard bastion of the 1st Kronus Liberators. It had been a long time since any vehicle had been able to make it past the line of entrenched heavy weapons teams, or through the row of heavy bolter turrets. Of course, that would assume any more vehicles could get past the two Leman Russ main battle tanks, Basilisk 'mobile' artillery batteries, or the huge bulk of the Baneblade super heavy war tank.

The guns of the entrenched heavy weapons teams were, for once, silent. The Basilisk commanders were scanning the horizon for signs of incoming artillery shells, and even the Assassins' (It was rumoured there may be as many as three hiding somewhere near the front lines) Exitus Rifles were starved of any targets. It was a temporary lull, that gunnery crews right across the line were using as a chance for some much needed R+R.  
Poker games, the age old retreat of bored men the universe over, sprang up. Minor inter-crew competitions arose. Rumours that this or that auto-cannon team had whiskey spread like wildfire (It was actually rum, and the Baneblade crewmen had it, but no one else knew that).  
The men were enjoying themselves for the first time in days (besides the 'who killed more Orks' competitions. Everyone knows the Leman Russes won those). It couldn't last.

A rocket flew past the lines, exploding harmlessly about ten feet above the Mars Pattern Command behind them. Three shots were heard, so rapid as to blur into one to most untrained ears, and the 'boom' of the Basilisks launching their counter-artillery Earthshaker rounds rolled past like thunder. On the horizon, approaching from the two exits from the mustering plateau, was a green tide of Orks. The Techpriests hurried back to the rear of the lines, where they would tend to the turrets and tanks, safe from most fire. "Here they come!!"

**Southern Plateau  
Eastern Gate**

The heavy weapons team woke with a start. On the other side of the base, they could hear the sounds of gunfire, heavy artillery, and Ork war cries. On the eastern front, however, it was just them, and the bolter turrets one to either side of them. Fortunately for the base, what few Orks had thought to come the back way to the base hadn't left alive. If a force of any significant magnitude thought to follow the back entrance, they seemed to be persuaded to head west by the promise of 'a good fight'. It was from here that the occasional offensive force of guardsmen, Kasrkin, and Ogryns would issue forth (most often lead by the Commander himself). They would always return, broken and defeated, running through the front lines, screaming for covering fire. Those few that had returned the way they came were shot for endangering the camp. Even rarer, though, were the deserters. Sympathetic to their plight, the commander of the team let them pass on their obviously fictional 'Patrol Duty'. Most often, their heads were discovered mounted on the pointy sticks of the next wave of Orks. Better than Commissar enforcement, that was. Echoing across from the other lines, a cry of 'The sandbags won't hold them! Run!' could be heard. The crewman grimaced. After so many nights of listening to the battle, he knew from bitter experience that that meant new faces in the mess hall next time he was cycled off the front. Poor bastards. Whether he felt more sorry for the by now (most likely) dead gun crew, or the newbies who would be setting up on their butchered corpses, he didn't know.

**Southern Plateau  
Regimental Command**

Governor-Militant Cain sat, watching the various teams of servitors and junior aides bustling around the data pits, in a command chair behind his desk. Taking a sip of his tea, he relaxed as he heard the familiar sounds of battle start up again.  
"There we go, Anton! I knew that quiet couldn't last too much longer. I almost thought those damned Orks were planning something. As if they have enough brains to do something like that!"  
Anton Gebbet, the second in command and Regimental Commissar, was stood to the side of his desk, staring down at the spineless bureaucrats. Those under his unblinking gaze scurried quicker.  
"Indeed, sir. By the way, I have just been informed that the captain you placed in charge of the Hyperion Peaks mining facility has requisitioned a Basilisk battery."  
"What the devil for! Those Peaks are so heavily fortified as it is, I dare say they could take a Titan head on and hold firm! No. Tell the Captain the Valkyries were shot down, and his request for spares has been denied. Then have those Basilisks diverted here, and install them as a dedicated counter-artillery battery. Those Orks have been sending more stolen tanks our way, as I recall."  
"It shall be so."  
"Oh, and Gebbet, if you get the chance, do remind the Techpriests that painting them red and bolting on more metal plates cannot possibly upgrade a tank to an artillery unit. Then ask them why our Russes don't have the same range as Ork ones, please? I always enjoy listening to the technobabble they spout in their defense."  
With this, the Governor sat, staring at some of the readouts for some time. Suddenly, he shouted down into one of the monitoring pits;  
"Lieutenant! Inform the tanks, rocket turret crews, and artillery battery that Squiggoths are their highest priority targets. If one is spotted on the battlefield, I want it dead immediately. Also, inform the Assassin."  
"Which one sir?"  
"Lieutenant, you know very well that, regardless of whether there may or may not be multiple Assassins out there, were I to let you know, most of the regiment would lose about six months pay, and a large amount of tension will be caused by debtors being unwilling to pay. Now, you have your orders."  
Again, Governor-Militant Darrell Cain slumped into his chair, staring at more and more information. Troop concentrations, Satellite images, tactical overlays, the list went on. At last, he stood up, drained the last of his tea, and shouted to the Command in general.  
"Ready the troops, and find me a new Command Squad! Let us sally forth once more!"

**Southern Plateau  
Assembly Grounds (just inside the East Gate)**

The Governor looked out at his selected infantry column. The sun glinting off of his golden breast plate, dazzling all who tried to look past his golden pauldrons, and blinding any who dared stare at his powerfists. He knew he cut an impressive figure, if a little gaudy for most purposes.  
His troops, the same squads (on paper, at least. Chances are, with all the replacements that had been drafted in, entirely new squads had been created just trying too keep the old ones together) that had first set foot into an Ork base a mere half hour march from the Eastern Gate, and only a ten minute sprint from the Western.  
Three squads of Guardsmen, all with Commissars charged to keep them true (strangely enough, after he had been forced to approve battlefield executions, Commissar death rates rose to nearly 100%), drawn from such worlds as Armageddon, whose prowess at fighting the Ork hordes is legendary. A Kasrkin squad, with their preferred priest attached, from the glorious Cadian battlefields. And an Ogryn squad, who could only be controlled by the priest who, whilst not attached to their squad, was, by silent consent, allowed to stay with them. Emperor only knows what will happen if he dies. These troops would follow him and his command squad into the Eye of Terror itself. And probably flee shortly before we all die, he reminded himself. It was the troopers' talent for survival (a rare trait amongst the Guard) that had allowed them to remain so long in His service, and only a fool would ignore their combined advice to run.  
Looking back, he saw his new command squad. He never allowed Gebbet or his own personal Psyker on these jaunts, as the risk of losing the command structure was too high. There was a commissar (the chief Commissar from C Company, if he remembered rightly), two priests (from the personal guard of Arch-Deacon Marcus), a psyker (whiny little git. Yes, the warp burned at his mind constantly, and yes, his eyes were burnt out by the mental presence of the Emperor...however that works... but he didn't need to constantly remind everyone else of that fact), and a Kasrkin sergeant (the only decent conversation to be had in the squad).  
"So, Sgt...?"  
"Garrus, sir."  
"Garrus. Right. I haven't seen you at any of the training rooms, have I?"  
"No, sir. I shoot things better than I hit them with my sword. So, I practiced shooting Orks, rather than learn how to swing a big pointy stick better."  
"Oh, so you won't join me in beating the frak out of any greenskins that get in our way?"  
"Afraid not, sir. I'll be blasting them away with my pistol. It's what I'm best at, sir."  
"Good man! Always play to your strengths, never do something just because it's expected of you."  
"Sir."  
The Kasrkin squad sergeant ran up to Darrell and saluted. "Sir, the troops are ready to deploy, sir."  
"Very well, men. Let's wage war!"

**Ork Territory**

Well, this went better than expected, Darrell thought as he sent one Ork flying after another.  
Oh who am I kidding? He replied to himself, whilst side stepping a Nob's axe.  
We were greeted at the outset by the entire army, just like the last ten times. And just like the last ten times, we managed to destroy it and fight our way to here, the crossroads, where we can retreat back to our rear exit, showing the Orks where it is, head right, towards an Ork army. Forward, through the shadow and into the valley of death itself, what with the Ork bases in and either side of it, with Orks around every corner. Or left towards the Western Entrance, where a larger Ork army is probably heading now. And whilst we decide, our firing lines are being demolished by artillery.  
A Guardsman ran past, heading for the Eastern Gate, and the command commissar shot him, almost on reflex. Two squads of guards were already broken, pleading with him to retreat, having lost their commissars to 'enemy fire'. The third was to busy trying to keep order in his own squad to worry about others. The Ogryns and Kasrkin seemed to be performing an intricate dance of death, one always covering the other, so that neither was outmanoeuvred or caught short by the enemy.  
Suddenly, Darrell be came aware of a soldier next to him, trying to grab his attention. It was Sgt. Garrus.  
"Sir, if I may, I believe the situation here is untenable, and that we had best retreat to the base."  
Looking around, Darrell noticed the state that his command squad was in. The psyker was clutching at a splintered eagle, the commissar had lost his hat and was sporting a lovely set of stab wounds. Through his armour. And the preists, whilst oblivious to the wounds they had to have received in their righteous fury, had noticed that their chainswords had run out of fuel, and were reduced to bludgeoning Orks with them. Reluctantly, he had to agree. Giving the orders, he saw that the two leaderless Guardsmen squads began sprinting immediately back to base. To his shame, the majority of his own command squad did the same. The Kasrkin squad, and the one squad of Guards with a commissar, however, began 'pepper-potting' back to base, whilst the Ogryns massacred any Orks that got too close to them. Sticking with them, and commending the squad leaders, he began the short, but arduous retreat to base.

**Southern Plateau  
Western 'Entrance'**

Governor-Militant Cain leaned against the walls of the infantry command, refusing to let himself pant for breath. The remnants of his orderly retreat had turned into a 1km sprint as a main Ork army started racing them to their own front lines. He, the Kasrkin, and the Ogryns were fine, but only now were the first regular guardsmen beginning to trickle in. Apparently, their commissar had decided they would make a last stand, so as to allow the Governor and his retinue more time to get to safety (not that they actually needed it. Overzealous fool). He hadn't survived the attempt.  
"So, Garrus. Our defences can't hold forever, and our army can't get far enough into Ork territory to deal any damage. What would you do?"  
"Well, sir, begging your pardon, but large-scale tactics like this are beyond me. I only plan well enough to keep my squad alive through each fire-fight. But, and I don't mean any offense, sir, perhaps we should bring in someone with a fresh perspective on the battle?"  
"You're right. I am going to have to call in some huge favours for this, but there is one person I know can definitely help out. He is quite possibly the only person in this sector who is.... a better offensive tactician than I am."

**Several Days Later  
Southern Plateau  
Regimental Command**

"Cap'n Sparky! Good to see you!"  
"And you, Darrell! When was the last time?"  
"Oh, five, ten years ago. Remember Bloody Rock?"  
"Of course! What was the score again?"  
"Thirty-three, thirty-five in my favour."  
"Yeah, right! I know I was winning last we met!"  
"Hmph! In your dreams. Commissar Gebbet, this is Chapter-serf Joshua Palmer of the Space Wolves. He was my captain in the cadet force before the Space Marines poached him from us. Got there about an hour before the Mechanicus came looking for him. 'Desecrating the Machine Spirit' or some such, wasn't it?"  
"Hey, I didn't do anything! The cogitator engine just stopped working, is all! And anyway, if you hadn't blamed that possessed cogitator on me, they wouldn't have cared!  
"As you can see, Commissar, Sparky and I have a little competition going. Because he owes me for those saves on Another Bloody Rock (Yes, Commissar, that is an actual planet. You can pull up the star maps later.) He has agreed to command us to victory against the Orks here."  
"Yeah, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm saving your ass again."  
"We're even if you manage to win."  
"Screw that, woman! You owe me, big time! Do you have any idea the shit I could cause, helping a 'traitor' Guard Regiment against the Blood Ravens? We'd have to pwn the Blood Ravens for a whole millennium just so they'd shut up about it!"  
"Right, sure, fine. Just win this battle for us."

**Three Hours Later  
Private Quarters  
Regimental Command**

Sparky was no longer in disguise, instead, he was proudly wearing his Chapter serf robes in Space Wolf grey. Stood in Darrell's private office, he and the Governor were having a minor difference of opinion as to the best strategy...

"What the Throne do you think you're doing?"  
"Advancing the defensive line, with a view to taking the central plateau, and cutting of the enemy at two choke points to the north and west of it."  
"Under my command, those heavy weapons teams were lasting thirty hours a time! Now they last about thirty seconds! And those Techpriests had barely even been scratched by an explosion in the months we have been stuck here! You come in, and two are dead, and the other is incapable of performing his duties! You've only been here three hours! What next, are you going to roll the Basilisks out into the middle of the plateau, and hope they hit something g before they die!"  
"No, first, I am going to send the Ogryns out as a melee component to the front defences, send forth priests, comissars and psykers to help them, disband the infantry division you have here, and then I am going to send out the Basilisks."  
Darrell slumped forward, defeated by the sheer indifference of the man in front of him.  
"But...but... That's like signing their death warrants!" He sputtered.  
"If they are willing to die for the Emperor, then they shall die for the Emperor."  
Darrell gaped as his old commanding officer left the room. Then;  
"Commissar Gebbet! I want Valkyries outside, fuelled and ready to go ASAP! When this all goes to the Warp in a handbasket, we're pulling as many of our men out as we can!"

**Several weeks later**

Darrell looked at the dishevelled serf in front of him. He appeared to have lost his robes, but instead was wearing carapace armour which, underneath all the layers of mud, may have once been Space Wolf Grey.  
"So, do you mind explaining to me why you felt the urge to take a command squad, two heavy weapons teams, and a chimera and crew out on a joyride?"  
"I found the enemy headquarters. Fool."  
"You mean this one, one of three that we know that particular horde possesses, not including the one over here which appears to be a complete separate camp?"  
"Aah, shit."  
"So, that explains the first half hour. What were you doing the rest of the week?"  
"Trying to get back here without an Ork army beating the frak out of me."  
"Wait, I know that look. Oh, come off it! You barely survived this one, and for anyone with you, it's a suicide run!"  
"I run with the Sons of Fenris. We're just awesome enough to do this shit."

**Two Months Later  
Kronus Planetary Command**

"Yes, thank you for all your help. Yes, don't worry, I know I owe you one, and yes, the planet Kronus will help in any way it can. All right? Okay, toodle lepip."  
Governor Darrell turned off the vox caster. He had held the Agamar Desert against the Orks, despite having to break various rules, and by utilising probably the most hated subject in the entire Imperium. Definitely most hated in the Guard.  
"Ahem!"  
"Emperor's Teeth!" Darrell spun around, to see several people had appeared in his offices.  
"Who are you? And what do you want?"  
"I am Marshal Bingham, of His Imperial Majesty's Guard."  
"I am Commissar-General Giles, representing the Commissariat."  
"I am Confessor Magnus, representing the Ministorum Temple."  
"I am Astropath Barnes, representing the Telepathica Temple."  
"I am Enginseer Smith, representing the Adeptus Mechanicus."  
"I am Inquisitor Barratt. The Imperial Inquisition. My colleagues and I are here because you used resources rather... liberally in your repulsion of the Orks from the Agamar Desert. So liberally, in fact, that the Inquisition has reason to believe you may actually have been supplying someone else. Perhaps you would prefer to take these questions in a more... comfortable.... setting?"  
Governor-Militant Darrell Cain stared in horror at the Inquisitor. Then, as realisation dawned, he turned his head to the skies.  
"Spaaaarkyyyyyyy!!!!"

_Yeah, so that was pretty much what happened during my battle for the Agamar Desert, with the exception of the extra Basilisk battery and the subsequent Inquest. I was forced to call for help from my friend 'Capin Sparky', who plays Space Wolves. A total disregard for the losses incurred then followed, eventually preceding victory. The inquest afterwards was my way of showing that he successfully angered nearly every sect of the Imperial Guard (he did actually send a dozen or so priests, psykers and commissars out into the front of the nemey army, to try and give him more time for his 'rolling defence' to establish itself. It didn't work. I myself would have only been hated by the Heavy Weapons Teams, and loved by the Departmento Munitorum, as well as any one who needed Ork body parts for any reason. The only reason the Assassin was spared was because he kept moving about, and we couldn't actually find him to order him to his death._


End file.
